


Daybreak

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: An emotional, Wincest-y coda to Episode 5.21, "Two Minutes to Midnight"I wrote this after watching the episode when it first aired - I couldn't get it off my mind. It seemed like this could be a possibility, if Sam & Dean had such a relationship. I tried to follow canon, & keep to their characterizations as realistically as possible - I hope I did OK!Finally got up the nerve to submit it! I thought the timing was appropriate after the recent re-broadcast of the episode.Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** I've been writing for many years, but just recently got into writing fanfiction. And although I've written some J2 fics before, this is the first Sam/Dean I've written - also the first NC-17 I've ever written -  & the first fic I've ever posted online publicly.
> 
> Also, I'm new to this comm & the steps of submitting a story. I'm trying to carefully follow all the submission & formatting guidelines - I hope it posts OK!

Dean watches Bobby walk back to the house – he can’t help but smile at his friend’s stiff-legged gait. It’s so amazing to see Bobby walking again, after nearly a year of being paralyzed and stuck in a wheelchair. But here he is, back on his feet, thanks to Crowley. Dean never thought the day would come when he’d feel gratitude towards a demon. But, incredibly, he does. 

 

All known rules, all known laws of his universe, seem to have changed now. 

 

Once more, Dean pulls the magnetically-charged Horsemen’s rings apart, only to watch them snap back together. Bobby’s words echo in his mind.

 

“What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?”

 

Dean didn’t answer; didn’t have to. And Bobby had understood. 

 

He’d urged Dean to go inside and try to get some sleep. Sam, exhausted by yesterday’s battle at the Niveus warehouse, has crashed in Bobby’s spare room. And Bobby, having spent all night reveling in his restored legs by continuously walking up and down his stairs, was now more than ready to catch a few hours of rest. Dean thinks Castiel is somewhere in Bobby’s rambling farmhouse, doing whatever angels do in their downtime – maybe an angel’s version of rest? Or, now that Cas has lost most of his angel mojo, maybe he can actually sleep, too. 

 

They’re all going to reconvene in the afternoon, to plan their stand against Lucifer. Dean knows that he needs to be sharp-minded for this strategy session. Every one of them needs to be at the top of their game now.

 

Sam is sure that Lucifer will be waiting for him in Detroit – Lucifer had told Sam that he would say yes to him there. So they’ve been looking for signs, omens – anything that might map out their next move in the apocalyptic endgame. Dean wishes he could just take Sam far from here, far from Detroit. But he knows that Lucifer will still find them, will still draw them to him somehow.

 

With a heavy sigh, he gulps the last of his beer, pockets the rings, and looks out past Bobby’s salvage yard at the sun as it begins to rise in the horizon, painting the sky with light. 

 

Bobby’s house is quiet, and Dean kicks off his work boots and carries them as he carefully makes his way around the piles of books stacked on the living room carpet, up the old wooden staircase and across the wood-plank floor to the room at the end of the hallway. 

 

He and Sam sleep here whenever they’re at Bobby’s – the closest thing they’ve had to a home since they were small children. Bobby had offered them separate rooms, but had never questioned it when they wanted to share a room, and to share a double bed. 

 

Sam’s sprawled out on his stomach on that bed now – the bedcovers are drawn up to just below the waistband of his boxers, and his bare back looks hard and smooth and dappled with the dim light filtering through the curtained window. Dean gazes at his brother for a long moment, taking in his long form, his dark hair tousled on the pillow. He hopes that Sam is sleeping peacefully. Peace is something they’ve rarely had, and have less and less of these days. 

 

Dean sets his boots quietly next to the bed and strips down to his underwear, bunching his jeans and shirts on the nightstand, next to the Colt and Ruby’s knife. He and Sam always keep their clothes and weapons within reach, just in case they need to quickly get up and into action. Even in sleep, they’re on alert.

 

He draws back the blanket and sheet and slips in beside Sam, feeling the mattress shift beneath his weight. He stretches out on his back, careful not to wake his brother. Sam needs his rest, to reserve his strength so he can face Lucifer in the coming days. 

 

Too late – Sam stirs and reaches a large hand out to settle on Dean’s chest; his warmth seeps into Dean’s skin. Dean responds by covering it with his own. Sam’s head is turned toward him now; his eyes open wide and he whispers, “Dean…”

 

“Go back to sleep, Sammy.” Dean hushes his gruff voice as much as he can. “Sorry I woke you.”

 

“Sorry I fell asleep – I tried to wait up for you, but I was so tired…”

 

Dean sighs. “I was outside… I had too much on my mind; I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to be tossing around next to you; didn’t want to disrupt your sleep, Sam – I know how exhausted you must be. Bobby told me you were awesome at the warehouse.”

 

“I tried, Dean. I need to save as many people as I can, before I…” Sam’s voice breaks off into uneven, shallow breaths. 

 

Dean presses his fingers against Sam’s lips. “Don’t, Sammy. Don’t even say it, not now…”

 

Sam responds by kissing Dean’s fingers, his hand drawing up to lace his own fingers through Dean’s as his lips move to Dean’s palm. Dean touches his lips to Sam’s forehead lightly. 

 

Sam shifts to his side; grips Dean’s hand and presses it to his chest, where Dean can feel his skittery heartbeat. “Dean…” 

 

Dean can hear the plea in his brother’s voice, and meeting Sam’s gaze, sees the unmistakable need and longing in his hazel eyes. The same feelings stir deep within Dean, beneath his melancholy exhaustion.

 

In the nearly ten years of this on-and-off physical thing they have, they’ve only turned to each other in furtive darkness, and have never discussed the things they do to and with each other in the stark light of day. Dean’s tried his best to compartmentalize this part of their relationship; to not let emotions get too strong and leave them vulnerable to the angels, demons and other monsters that are their enemies.

 

Until now. As the sun’s rays glimmer in the corners of the wood-paneled room, and shed light on Sam’s intense gaze, they illuminate Dean’s mind, too. He feels so fucked-up lately, helpless in the face of their dire situation. But Dean also knows that he and Sam are each other’s refuge. With everything they’ve been through in their messed-up lives, what they have between them is the only thing that actually feels normal. 

 

A part of Dean realizes that this might be the last time they lie together like this, their bonds of history and devotion running deeper than mere desire. Dean wants to make this so good for Sam, wants to give him this memory to carry with him into the final fight with Lucifer, as a lifeline to Sam’s humanity.

 

And Dean wants to make this memory for himself, too, to hold onto always, no matter what the outcome of that battle may be…

 

He reaches over, to brush long locks of hair off Sam’s forehead; to caress the mole on Sam’s cheek; to run his hand down the curve of Sam’s face. Sam leans into his touch, eyes closed for a moment, and exhales a breathy whimper.

 

Sam pulls Dean close to him, into his arms, skin to skin. They sigh together as they seek each other’s mouths, in a desperate kiss. Dean can taste traces of whiskey and beer on Sam’s tongue, and he knows Sam’s drinking wasn’t in celebration of a job well done, but an attempt to ward off thoughts of the upcoming confrontation. It’s as good an excuse for indulgence as any – they both drink way too much these days. 

 

Dean wants to wipe away Sam’s worry, even if just for these daybreaking moments. 

 

He feels the hunger flaring up inside him, and he pushes against Sam, moving him onto his back, lying full-length upon his brother, as their kisses deepen. They roll their hips together, and Dean moans softly into Sam’s mouth as he feels their growing erections through their underwear.

 

They try to keep as quiet as possible, respectful of Bobby – although he undoubtedly knows about their true relationship, it’s always been a matter of don’t ask, don’t tell, and it’s best to keep it that way. And of Cas – though the fallen angel is mostly human now, he still retains his angelic naivete, and they don’t want to be the ones to tarnish it. 

 

Dean raises up onto his knees and draws back the light cotton blanket and the sheet. He fingers the waistband of Sam’s boxers, and Sam lifts his hips obligingly, as Dean pulls the thin fabric down the tight curve of Sam’s ass, along the length of his legs and feet, and drops them to the floor.

 

His breath catches, as always, at the sight of his brother’s beautiful body. An expanse of tanned skin, each nick and scar telling a story. The round mark, where Bela’s bullet grazed his shoulder. The long thin line on his arm, from when the pagan gods tried to make them their holiday sacrifice – Dean had matching scars on his own arms, until Castiel had erased his wounds when he rescued Dean from Hell. And, though he can’t see it right now, Dean thinks of the jagged pale scar on Sam’s back that marks the place where Azazel’s minion Jake Talley stabbed him to death. Dean had sacrificed his soul to a crossroads demon to bring Sam back; had gone to Hell for Sam. And now he’ll do anything to keep Sam from his own hell, of becoming possessed by Lucifer. 

 

Dean has to admit to himself that he understands why Lucifer thinks Sam is his perfect vessel. Sam is physically nearly perfect – imposingly tall and strong, with hunter-honed muscles and quick reflexes. And his strikingly handsome face still at times seems youthful and guileless, despite his inner darkness. Lucifer wants to use that strength to force his will upon the world, and that face to deceive the world into following him to its own demise.

 

He remembers his Zachariah-enforced vision of the future – of seeing Lucifer inhabiting his brother’s body. There were no traces of Sam in the face that Dean knew as well as his own. Nothing but coldness in Sam’s hazel eyes; an insolent smirk stretching the corners of Sam’s dimpled smile. 

 

Dean had never felt such fright before in his life, as when he saw the devil wearing his brother’s countenance. And he had never before felt such righteous rage. He vowed then to stop this horrifying thing from happening, no matter what. 

 

As his eyes roam over Sam’s naked body, he can’t help but think, no one is allowed inside my brother but me. He wonders if Lucifer, wherever he is, can hear that thought – and he lays it down, like a gauntlet, in case the angel-turned-demon is somehow listening.

 

But now, it’s Sam’s face, looking at Dean with openness and trust; it’s Sam reaching up to pull Dean back down to him. Sam’s lips and hands are warm and familiar as they caress Dean’s face and body, relaxing Dean, bringing him back into this moment.

 

Dean runs his hands and lips along Sam’s skin, marking his brother – mine, and no one else’s. He starts at Sam’s jawline and continues down, suckling his throat, licking along his collarbone, tracing the pattern of Sam’s protection tattoo. 

 

Sam responds with a long sigh, and skims his hands across Dean’s shoulders, tracing the raised mark of Castiel’s handprint, branded on Dean’s flesh when the angel rescued Dean from the pit. Sam moves his hands to Dean’s chest, settling for a moment on Dean’s matching tattoo, before sweeping down his back, to grip his ass and hips, and then up again.

 

Dean kneels over Sam, and brushes his fingers and tongue slowly down the defined planes of Sam’s chest and muscled abs, to stroke the velvety skin of Sam’s hardness; then takes him into his mouth. Sam shivers and arches his back as Dean sucks him down deeper – he clutches his fingers into Dean’s short hair, and turns his head to muffle his moans into his pillow. 

 

Sam quivers in release, and Dean holds him still as he swallows his bitter-sweet essence. Then he moves up until he’s face to face with his brother. Sam captures Dean’s lips in a devouring kiss; his tongue licks into every crevice of Dean’s mouth, slides along Dean’s tongue.

 

He grips the waist of Dean’s boxer-briefs, pulling them down over his hips, freeing his erection. Dean kicks them off and onto the floor. Sam tangles his long legs with Dean’s and presses hard against Dean’s body.

 

“Need you, Dean…,” Sam rasps, his breath warm against Dean’s lips.

 

That’s all Dean has to hear. It’s everything. He moves quickly to the foot of the bed and reaches over the edge to his duffle bag on the floor. He finds the lube stashed in there, and then settles between Sam’s splayed legs. 

 

Dean prepares his brother thoroughly, first with his tongue, then with a slicked finger, then two, then three. He watches as Sam pushes back against his searching fingers; as Sam hardens again when Dean hits the knot of nerves deep within his core; as Sam throws his head back against the pillow, eyelids fluttering closed.

 

“Ready for me, Sam?” Dean whispers in his ear, pressing kisses on Sam’s erratic pulse and down the strong column of his neck.

 

“Yeah, Dean… please…” There’s raw emotion in Sam’s voice, and Dean understands that, of all the times they’ve been together like this, now it’s heightened, more meaningful than ever. All the hurt, mistrust and resentment of the past are wiped away; all that remains is forgiveness, and abiding loyalty amidst their passion.

 

Their eyes lock together – Sam’s green and gold-flecked irises are merely rims around desire-dilated pupils; moisture pools in the corners of his eyelids. Dean knows his eyes mirror Sam’s. 

 

They hold their gaze as Sam draws his long legs up and apart, knees to chest, feet on Dean’s hips; and Dean slathers himself and eases into Sam’s entrance. He watches as Sam hitches a breath and closes his eyes momentarily; and he feels Sam’s tight inner muscles relax around him, holding Dean snug within his body. 

 

“God, Sam…” He’s always craved this amazing connection, this boundless bond that’s carried them through everything together, and he knows Sam does, too. They’re like the magnetized Horsemen’s rings – no matter how far apart, in miles or emotional distance, that they’ve been, they always snap back together, time after time.

 

“Yeah…” Sam gives Dean a small, soft smile, as if he knows just what Dean’s thinking. And Dean thinks that maybe he does, in some sort of psychic way.

 

Sam reaches one hand up to pull Dean down for a kiss; he reaches his other hand around to cup Dean’s butt and push him in further. 

 

Dean strokes into Sam slowly, drawing it out, making it last. He wants to memorize every sensation, every emotion welling up within him, every feeling flickering across Sam’s face. God, if the world just ended right now, I’d be OK with it, he thinks. 

 

But then Sam urges him on, harder, faster, deeper. And Dean becomes caught up in the sweet friction, as Sam’s hardness rubs against his stomach, as Sam lunges his hips up to meet Dean’s every thrust, propelling them closer and closer to the edge. 

 

“Ahhh, right there, Dean,” Sam gasps, wide-eyed. “Ahhh, feels so good…”

 

“Feels amazing, Sam…” Dean mutters into Sam’s neck. An intense pressure builds up deep within him; he feels Sam’s body tense up; feels Sam’s inner walls clench around him, and he comes in waves of pleasure, as Sam’s climax pulses warm and wet between them. They bite back their moans of release, breathing harshly through their nostrils instead. They stare into each other’s eyes – liquid hazel into glistening green – as they come apart, and Dean feels himself breaking open into pure emotion. Only Sam can crumble the walls that Dean’s flung up around his feelings; only Sam can reach into his heart. 

 

Dean collapses on his brother, his body shaking with silent sobs. Sam holds Dean tight and rocks him through their aftershocks, covering his face with kisses. Dean’s lips trace the salty rivulets that have leaked from Sam’s eyes, and Sam licks gently at Dean’s own tear-sticky eyelashes. They stay fastened together, hearts pounding, until their tremors subside.

 

Dean pulls out reluctantly, carefully; then reaches over the foot of the bed, into his duffle bag, for a warm bottled water and an old t-shirt. He feels Sam’s gaze on him, silent but intent, as he wets the cloth and washes Sam’s skin, and then wipes the t-shirt over himself. He lies down beside Sam and draws the sheet and blanket around them; draws his arms around his quiet brother.

 

But Dean can see it, welling up behind Sam’s eyes, and he reacts, knowing just what Sam’s going to say, as soon as Sam opens his mouth. “Dean, I need to tell you… I –”

 

“Shh, Sammy…” Again, Dean rests his fingers on Sam’s lips, silencing him. “It’s OK – I know…” And he does know – though they rarely say it, the love is there. It’s in the way they look after each other, sacrifice for each other, live for each other. Even in the way they crossed that taboo line to physically express their feelings for each other. 

 

But Dean is afraid that, on the verge of this final battle, saying it would also be saying good-bye. And that’s the last thing he wants to hear. Because he doesn’t know how he can possibly go on, without his beloved brother in his life.

 

But a flash of emotion crosses Sam’s face, and he grasps Dean’s hand and pulls it away. “No, Dean,” he says in a harsh whisper. “It’s not OK. Bobby told me that you made the deal with Death for the rings on the condition that you would let me go through with my plan to trap Lucifer.”

 

“Well, I lied.” Dean tries to say it with bravado, but instead it comes out with uncertainty. 

 

“Dean, you know you can’t lie to Death. This is inevitable, and you know it, too. Look, I know it’s a huge risk, but there doesn’t seem to be any other way…” Sam’s low voice is serious, his face intent as he holds Dean’s gaze, clutches Dean’s hand. “I may have to say yes… but I’m not going into the fire without telling you that I love you.” Shaking with emotion, Sam holds Dean’s face in his big hands, looks into his eyes. “Dean – I love you.”

 

Dean reaches a tremulous hand out to run through Sam’s soft hair, and along his beautiful face. “Ah, Sam,” he murmurs, giving up, giving in to his brother. He’s never been able to deny Sam anything he truly needed. But Dean realizes he needs this, too. And so he says, “I love you, too.” And with these words, he lets Sam go.

 

Sam lets out a long sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath all his life. “Thank you.” He kisses Dean softly, sweetly. In the dawning light his eyes shine and he gives Dean the smile of a man who’s been granted his last wish. 

 

“Now let’s rest – God knows you need it,” Sam says; a new resolve in his voice. He stretches out against Dean’s side, warm and solid, and strokes Dean’s skin, soothing him. “The Apocalypse can wait for us.”

 

Dean realizes that Sam is right. For some unfathomable reason, the Apocalypse can’t happen without them; they both have a pivotal part to play, with life-or-death stakes. He still hopes that maybe they can still meet the final fight on their own terms. 

 

But Dean finally understands that maybe their own terms don’t matter; that this is much bigger than the both of them. Not only are their lives at stake, but also every single human life in the whole world. 

 

He pulls his brother closer, clinging to him, listening to Sam’s breathing as it evens out, feeling Sam’s heartbeat as it steadies against the palm of his hand. 

 

He can’t help but think of what Bobby said – that Sam will beat Lucifer, or die trying. 

 

If it comes down to that, then Dean will do everything he can to save Sam, even if he may die trying, too.

 

Maybe that’s a small price to pay, in perspective, for saving the whole world. 

 

Dean sighs in surrender, rests his face against Sam’s, and closes his eyes to the daylight, streaming in now, through the curtained window.

 

 

~


End file.
